


Adulting

by merae2888



Series: Adulting [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 20:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8503780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merae2888/pseuds/merae2888
Summary: Bellamy teaches Clarke how to 'adult'.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just smut 'cause why the hell not?

The state of her cabin makes him want to vomit. There are clothes and boots thrown haphazardly everywhere. Scattered journal pages in no discernable organizational pattern litter the floor. Her bed isn’t made and doesn’t look like it ever has been. There a half-eaten apple core on the little bedside table he made her. 

The reminder of why he used to call her ‘Princess’ comes rearing back to the forefront of his mind. She didn’t have to do things as mundane as household chores. She was raised on one of the upper levels of the Ark that had cleaners, because of her mother’s status as Council member. While Bellamy was learning how to wash dishes and do laundry, cook and clean, Clarke was spending her time in the medical unit, learning things most people could’ve only dreamed about, getting a better education than Bellamy ever could. 

But at times like this, when he can’t walk across the floor without bumping into one of her various possessions she’s collected over the years, he can’t help but think that she missed out on some valuable life skills. 

Bellamy lasts almost an entire fortnight before he finally cracks. 

"How can you live like this?"

They're seated at her small table that serves as a desk and a dining area. They are trying to map out the areas that have been deemed ‘safe’ by Monty and Raven and there are papers everywhere. He’s just marking the latitude and longitude while she’s taking the time to sketch out the mountain ranges and the lakes and the streams in agonizing detail. There are broken pieces of charcoal strewn among the pages, other journal pages of plant and berry sketches mixed up with them. It makes Bellamy twitch. 

Clarke looks up from where she’s sketching with wide, curious eyes. “Like what?”

“In this mess,” Bellamy huffs while gesturing around at the table and the room. “You’ve got shit everywhere: your clothes and your drawings and your food! Doesn’t this bug you?” 

Clarke blinks at him, genuinely confused. “Um…not really.”

Bellamy grunts low in his throat, the way he does when he’s trying to stop himself from yelling. “Well, it bugs me.”

Clarke snorts and tries to hide it behind her hand. “It’s not your room, Bell. Why does it bother you so much?”

(And maybe that’s why it does…because it shouldn’t. He doesn’t live here, with her, sharing the same space every day…every night…so it shouldn’t bug him and cloud his thoughts and he definitely shouldn’t spend most of his free time (they actually have free time, incredibly) thinking about if he could live with her, if he could stand the mess she seems fine with, if they could live together…happily. He shouldn’t care about that because it wasn’t like he was in immediate danger of it happening.

And he doesn’t care, for the record. He doesn’t want to live with her…or spend his life with her…in her currently unmade, messy bed…never crosses his mind.)

“It doesn’t bother me,” he says. His voice sounds bothered, even to his own ears. “I just don’t get it. I couldn’t live like this.” 

There’s a smile on her face then, some secret emotion he doesn’t recognize blooming over her face before she ducks her head. “Well,” she says, obviously hedging into something, and Bellamy looks away from her blushing cheeks. “Maybe I could be a little neater. I do have the time now, after all.” 

Not constantly having to save the world did free up some time. “Exactly!” Bellamy exclaimed. “And this is your place. You should have pride in it. Keep it nice.” It’s what his mother had told him, many years ago, when he was a kid and didn’t get why the dishes had to be washed every night. 

She nods, looking at him with a small, fond smile, like she knows what he’s trying not to say. “You wanna teach me?”

“Teach you how to…be an adult?”

Clarke scoffs. “Let’s say you’re going to teach me certain aspects of what it means to be an adult.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes but it’s fond. This is how they are now. They talk about normal shit. They tease each other. They laugh. 

It’s still a little weird.

He pretends to consider for a minute before sticking his hand out to her. “Deal.” 

She shakes. “Deal.” 

And that’s how it starts. 

That first time, they just organize her sketches, separating them into different categories so that she’ll be able to find everything easier in the future.

The next time, he teaches her how to fold her clothes in a way that will maximize the space in the tiny chest that he made for her to store things.

Then, he shows her how to make her bed so precisely that she could bounce a quarter on her sheets.

It’s late nights and close quarters, an intimacy he didn’t know to want. He’s helping her create this space where she’ll live, where she’ll build a life. 

Her cabin is still a mess, most of the time, but a more manageable mess, one he can imagine co-existing in.

(Not that that matters.)

The river is cold but the only source of fresh water near the camp. Bellamy’s fingers are wrinkled and numb but he’s showing Clarke how to wash her clothes without scrubbing holes into the fabric and her arm keeps brushing his, their fingers keep getting tangled where they meet underwater and he can’t stop. 

He’s running out of adulting things to teach her.

She sighs as she brings her hands out of the water and holds them out in front of her. “Aren’t there any adult things you can show me that are actually…I don’t know…fun?”

Snorting, he knocks his shoulder into hers but she doesn’t shove off like he expected. She stays close, maintaining contact. He can feel the warmth of her skin through her sweater. He has to clear his throat before he can speak again. “You got any ideas?”

The look she gives him then is just obscene. She rakes her eyes down his chest, lingers where his shirt is stretched tight over his abs. She wets her lips and he nearly falls into the river. “A few.”

He’s almost kissing her, he can taste the strawberries she had at lunch on her breath and her eyes are falling shut, when Abby’s voice rings out behind them, calling for her daughter. 

Clarke huffs, the air bursting sharp and short from her lips, sweeping fast across his open mouth. He keeps his eyes closed, willing the moment not to break. “Ignore her,” he rasps.

“She’ll come looking for me,” Clarke whispers. 

“Not for a few minutes. I could make this very quick.” 

“Ah, that’s so…” she nuzzles her nose against his, “romantic.”

Her mother calls again, drowns out his laugh. “Tonight, then. One more class on adulting.”

“Can’t wait to see your lesson plan.”

She leaves him with a kiss on the cheek, this one full of promise instead of goodbye.

Bellamy’s waiting on her perfectly made bed when she comes in that night. She smiles immediately at his sprawled form, looking so at ease on her bed, like he belongs there. 

She rocks forward on her toes once before stepping quickly to the bed and leaning over to kiss him before he fully realizes what’s happening. Their teeth click together and their noses bump painfully. A muttered ‘sorry’ is pressed to his lips. Now that she’s started, she never wants to stop kissing him.

Laughing, Bellamy leans back, holding her at arm’s length when she tries to follow. “Someone’s eager to start tonight’s lesson.”

“What can I say, you’re a great teacher.” She tilts her head, more than ready to shut him up when he holds up a pair of knitting needles and yarn. “What the hell is that?”

“Tonight’s lesson,” Bellamy says, effecting an innocence that’s infuriating. “Knitting is an important life skill, especially with the harsh climate we live in.” 

“You are so lame,” Clarke groans as Bellamy makes a show of wrapping the yarn around one needle. “Okay, this is very cute,” she says flatly as she swings her leg over his lap. “Can we get on with it?”

“I’m trying but you’re kind of crowding me here,” Bellamy says as she pushes forward, shoving her impressive tits into his face. He makes a gallant effort to actually begin knitting as she nuzzles in closer and gets her mouth on his neck. His casual tone falters slightly as she sucks at his pulse point. The needles clink together as he tries, stubbornly, to ignore the way she’s grinding on him now and actually start knitting. 

Clarke can hear his voice, murmuring about the proper way to actually hold the needles and part of her really admires his remarkable level of determination to be a jackass. No one does it better than Bellamy.

“Clarke, you’re not paying attention.”

She pulls back, leaving a wet mark on his collarbone, and huffs, “Maybe you’re not paying attention. There’s a horny, hot girl grinding down on you right now and instead of having your way with her, you’re knitting.” 

He glances down at the needles and then locks his eyes on her breasts. The next few things happen very quickly. The needles are dropped to the ground, Bellamy bends his knees up, the shift rocking Clarke so she falls forward, her achy cunt grinding over his straining cock in his pants and he kisses her. No fumbling this time. She knew he was going to be good at this and he doesn’t disappoint. His mouth is chapped from the recent cold spell but she likes the way his rough lips catch on hers. When she bites down on his bottom lip, he groans and clenches her hips, digs his fingers into her ass. 

“This is a much better lesson,” Bellamy mumbles and he reaches for the tie in her braid and pulls it loose so he can sink his fingers into her soft curls. “I’ll just make all your winter clothes for you anyway.” 

“I knew I was keeping you around for some reason.”

Bellamy follows the fall of her hair to her shirt. He tucks his finger inside the collar and runs it back and forth, grazing his nail over the sensitive skin of her breasts. 

She starts tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free of his pants and sliding her hands around his stomach, clenching at his abs and ribs. They get a little desperate then, yanking at each other’s buttons and zippers. Clarke struggles out of her jacket, Bellamy almost falls off the bed when he kicks off his boots. They finally have to break their sloppy kiss when Clarke shoves Bellamy’s shirt up his chest and it gets caught on his chin. He yanks it away and then he pulls her shirt off, gets her hair all tangled in the front buttons and he has to stop kissing her and free her while Clarke squirms impatiently on his lap.

“Alright,” Bellamy says when he finally tosses her shirt on the ground. “We’re gonna get better at this.”

“What does every great teacher say about ‘practice’?” Clarke says as she snuffles at his ear. 

“Makes perfect?” Bellamy takes off her bra and kisses down her chest, licks over the curve of her breasts. 

Clarke nods and runs her fingers through his hair and down his neck. “I’m all for practicing. I want to get good at this adulting thing.”

Bellamy lifts his hips, rolling his cock against her center, intently watching the way the line of Clarke’s body shudders at the sensation. “Babe, we’re gonna be masters.” 

“Why are you still wearing pants?” Clarke asks when Bellamy starts kissing her neck. He rolls his hips up, mostly to hear her gasp, and smiles into her skin. 

“’Cause you’re sitting on top of me.”

Clarke shifts purposefully, rubbing against him in a way that makes him groan and sinks his teeth into her flesh. Bellamy’s getting hot, in both ways and he kind of shoves her off him, more roughly than he intended to so he can get her naked. Clarke just laughs (he fucking loves her) and shimmies a little to help him get her pants off. The panties she’s wearing are already wet. Bellamy lightly drags his thumb up the darkened strip of fabric that’s sticking to her wet cunt. Then back down, over and over until she’s shuddering.

“Bell,” she gasps, “come on, more, please.”

“Patience, babe, this is what we call foreplay.” 

“Good to know. Should I write this down? Is there gonna be a test later?” She grabs his wrist and stills his hand so she can grind against his palm, desperate for more friction. 

Bellamy chuckles. “I think you’ll pass.”

“If not, I’ll just sleep with the professor,” she chuckles at her own joke and Bellamy lets his head fall back with a laugh when she fumbles at his belt buckle. He has to balance over her, resting on his forearms so he can get one leg free of his pants then the other. Clarke licks into his mouth, fucking with his concentration and almost making him fall on top of her several times. When he’s finally naked, Clarke runs her hands all over him, sighing happily as she feels his muscles straining and bunching wherever she touches him. She squeezes behind his thighs and he finally lies on top of her. She gasps, either with happiness or because he’s crushing her lungs out of air but Clarke winds her legs around his waist and he tucks him perfectly into her body, hips snug her thighs, his face in the curve of her neck, arms hooked under her to press closer and closer and closer. She rakes her fingernails down his back and inhales deeply at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Even better than I imagined,” Clarke whispers, lips and breath caressing him with promises.

There’s an easy tease in response to those words but he can’t do it, can’t break this moment because he’s been thinking about this since the first time he got uppity with her and she just rolled her eyes at him. So he kisses her, soft, lingering, down the slope of her neck and the sharp point of her collarbone. He nuzzles his face in between her breasts, counting the beats of her heart with his tongue. “You have no idea, babe.” 

Clarke runs her hands through his hair and pulls him up for a real kiss. “And we haven’t even gotten to the main event yet.”

There’s just a little more fumbling to get her underwear off. He kisses her as he pushes inside, swallowing her groan as he stretches her cunt hot and sweet, broad shoulders shifting up as moves inside her. There are just shallow thrusts at first, so she can get adjusted to him and the push and pull of him is so tight she needs more and more. She angles for a kiss and he presses softly against her mouth, almost unbearably sweet. She forces herself to hold still, to allow the affection to sweep through her and fill her empty places inside. When she smiles under his mouth, he breathes out softly, relieved and happy and it’s the best thing Clarke’s ever heard. She taps an eager rhythm against his hips. “I’m good. I’m good now.” He bites playfully at her mouth and pulls almost completely out and then fucks back into her, filling her with his long, hard cock. She locks her legs behind his thighs so she can spur on the deep, full thrusts of his cock. 

“Fuck, Clarke. That’s so good, babe, so fucking good.” 

He’s a talker, she should’ve known. His hand falls to her clit and she whines, almost gest embarrassed but he begs her for more. “Let me hear you, babe.” It’s impossible to deny when he’s suckling at her throat, breathing dirty things into her sweaty skin. She moans and writhes beneath him, totally screws up the steady rhythm they had set. 

It’s so good, he feels so good, like the sun hot on her skin after a cold night. She wants it to last longer, wants to keep going forever but he whispers for her ‘to come’, to ‘let go’ and it sounds like a damn fine idea. Bellamy kisses her through the height of ecstasy, mumbling how gorgeous she is into her open, panting mouth. 

Her orgasm is still pulsing through her with tiny aftershocks when Bellamy sits back and pulls her onto his lap “Bell…” she whines but sinks back onto him and he snaps his hips up and fucks into her, new angle, new sensation bringing her back to the brink so quickly she can’t catch her breath. He rubs against the front of her cunt and they couldn’t possibly get any closer. Bellamy holds her gently, rough, hot hands running down the bumps in her spine, palming the curve of her ass, rocking her closer and she rolls her body against his. He tongues at her nipples, leaves wet, sloppy kisses across the tops of her breasts when she pushes them into his face. 

His thrusts get a little erratic when he’s close and it’s her turn to whisper filthy things into his ear until he shudders and leans back, fucking up into her as she clings to his shoulders and rides her second orgasm out with him.

Sweaty chest heaving, he flops back and she rolls off. He pulls a blanket over them. Clarke tucks it beneath her arms, just high enough to cover her breasts. It’s so casual, so domestic, like they do this everyday. He really fucking loves her. 

“Okay,” she starts, breathing deeply, voice raspy and relaxed, ”I gotta say it.”

“Nooooo,” Bellamy groans. He pulls her to his side and kisses her forehead. He rubs his nose against her hairline, breathes deep. “Please don’t.” 

“I have to,” she insists. 

“Clarke.”

“It needs to be said.” 

“It’s so corny.” 

“How do you know what it is?” 

Bellamy clears his throat. “There’s only three things it could be and they’re all so fucking corny.” 

Clarke hums, like she might actually be considering his point. “I’m gonna say it anyway.” 

Bellamy smiles, all scrunched up and perfect. “I wouldn’t love you if you didn’t.” 

She wiggles up, tucks herself further into the circle of his arms and kisses his cheek. “Best lesson ever.” 

“You are such a dork.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments inspire me to write more so if you enjoyed this....*hint hint* *wink wink*


End file.
